


everything's alright

by nascence (rurikawa)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rurikawa/pseuds/nascence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Ray murmurs against Ryan’s temple, “Wake up for me, Ry.”<br/>He does.</p>
</blockquote>In which Ray is dead and Ryan is mostly fine.
            </blockquote>





	everything's alright

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god i'm so nervous about publishing this fic because this is my first venture into RPF and this is my first english fic in four years so yeah.  
> this is unbeta'd so please feel free to point out any errors. or if you're interested to beta this fic, let me know!

“Ray’s dead,” Geoff says with his head low enough to make Ryan thinks that maybe Geoff is smirking right now. Maybe Geoff tries to pull a prank on him because he wants to say, “Got you, asshole, now here’s your pay and use it to buy Twinkies, alright?” because sometimes Geoff is a childish prick even though he’s the leader of their crew and god, how Geoff likes to make them buy alcohol or some weird shit for him with his words. But Jack is silent for the whole minute; Gavin’s scrunching up his nose and trying so hard to keep his voice down from sobbing hard; and Michael taps his fingers to the table’s surface, avoiding Ryan’s stare.

“Okay, just—“ Ryan breathes deeply, lungs burning. “Okay.”

“He fucked up somehow,” Michael tells him. “Found him on the alley near his post. He was already dead. Shot in the chest.”

“Fuck, okay,” Ryan mutters, looking up to the ceiling, trying to find solace there, but there’s only white and that color is not helping him at all, so he turns to Jack instead because Jack always has the answers for his spoken and unspoken questions. “Where—?”

“His body is in his bedroom,” Jack adds solemnly, grimacing at her choice of words. _His body_ —no life, no spirit, no mind, no act, no everything. Not _Ray_ anymore, with his dexterous fingers and his clever mind, high on life whenever his finger pulled the trigger, fisted a pump every time he successfully shot somebody from a great distance, skillfully made everyone sighed in defeat when he beat one of them in any video game. Just an empty vessel. An object, ready to be disposed for Earth’s sustainability.

Ryan nods slowly, wondering if the rest of them managed to figure out his expression behind his skull mask. He doesn’t even want to go to the nearest mirror to know what his face looks like right now. Must be terrible.

He goes to Ray’s bedroom, finding the bloody sheets underneath Ray’s limp body. Closed eyes, closed mouth, naked feet—his right ankle is twisted—and zipped purple jacket with rose red bloomed on upper left side.

Ryan traces the lines of his face, from his forehead down to his lower lip, climbs up to his cheekbone, takes a circle route around his earlobe, and slides down to his veins under his skin. No beat to feel and yeah, now he believes Geoff. The masked man stares at his face for a long time before noticing Ray’s glasses folded neatly beside his head. He takes it, strokes the black rims longingly, puts it back, and stares again for a long time. Before Ryan steps outside the room, he grabs Ray’s rifle, hidden under the bed along with his unwanted games and trashy porn magazines. He glances at everyone in the living room.

“Let me blow off some steam,” Ryan says. Geoff just nods while Gavin walks into the bedroom, wiping his snot out of his upper lip. Michael follows him behind, fingers fidgeting. Jack remains at her place, looking at him through her wet lashes, full of worry and sadness.

“I’m gonna take that as you’re done with your goodbye because you’re probably not gonna see him anymore by the time you come back.” When Ryan tilts his head in confusion, Geoff adds, “Gonna burn him like he was a fucking royal boy with his remaining coke and shit. You don’t wanna come with us?”

Ryan hadn’t even said an utter word through his short visit, hadn’t even thought about anything really, just trying to process the fact that he can’t see Ray’s smug grin anymore, but he waves his hand anyway, letting Geoff do anything with Ray’s body. “Nah. Blaze him spectacularly,” Ryan requests.

“It’s a fucking Viking funeral,” Geoff replies. “It will be so damn fantastic the media will make stupid headlines out of it.”

“I know you’ll do a great job. You always do,” Ryan assures him before saluting his goodbye. “Take a picture for me, yeah?”

“Sure, buddy.”

Jack rises up to kiss his cheek and whispering prayers even though they’re not the kind of people who likes to sit in churches, praising the God with chants of hallelujah, filling the church’s atmosphere with the haunting sounds of organ and choirs, and confessing sins to a statue of Jesus Christ. Ryan hugs her, stroking her back slowly to calm her down. He can see Geoff taking a swig of rum and cola as he unwraps his arm off of Jack’s torso.

He doesn’t cry during the drive to the suburban of Los Santos, doesn’t need to. He finds a tall building where he could pick the locks without a problem. He breaks in to an unfurnished room, with big cemented walls and cobwebs, and sits on top of a dusty wooden box. He sets Ray’s pink rifle on the window frame, watching people walking on the street in front of the building with their laughs and their frowns and their emptiness. He turns the safety off, fingers tapping idly on the trigger as his eyes locked to a Hispanic girl walking alone with a taco in her hands. He pulls.

The girl’s dead, falling gracefully to a man who was taking a selfie with his candy bar before freaking the shit out of him. A child cries in the distance, yelling for her mommy and her dinosaur plush being tainted by the girl’s blood. Ryan just lay his head on his palms, sitting there for two minutes on the edge of someone’s shrieks and camera flashes before he takes the pink rifle and walks back to his car. A man points out his finger to the rifle and Ryan shoots him with his own pistol, glancing at Ray’s weapon – after all it’s a fucking bright pink, the color of Barbie’s logo –  and snorts.

He drives back to one of the abandoned safe houses, doesn’t go to the pier because he doesn’t want to ruin Ray’s Viking funeral. Maybe this is his own way to respect the dead. He hums when he hears the cops’ sirens, ringing loudly on his ears, and he breathes, breathes, breathes until his chest hurts. 

* * *

 

It’s five minutes past four AM when he dreams of Ray gripping the edge of the mask playfully and taking it off of his face. The pads of his thumbs thrums his chin rhythmically and he smiles as he presses his palms into the curves of Ryan’s face, rough and soft at the same time, lingers in what it feels like forever. He kisses the corner of Ryan’s lips, mumbles some incoherent words, and Ryan swears to god, he’s seeing cliché things inside his mouth—fireworks, supernovas, all that poetic shit disappearing one by one—and he’s quite scared.

Ray murmurs against Ryan’s temple, “Wake up for me, Ry.”

He does.

He straightens his back and finds that his mask is still wrapped around his head and he just sighs heavily.

* * *

 

“So, no heist this week?” Ryan asks and Geoff eyes him curiously. They’re sitting leisurely on the porch, watching the sun sinks into the outlines of rooftops and skyscrapers, for once listening to the radio for smooth jazz instead of police reports.    

“You do know that we lost Ray two days ago,” he points out matter-of-factly.

“I’m just wondering if we’re going to have a heist break because of that.” He folds his arms on his chest, gazing into the nice huge house in front of their house with no cars and unlit lamps. The grandmas next door are always gossiping about the house owner, a lawyer recently divorced, lost his right to raise his child, and how he succumbs into depression.  

“Yes, we are on a break,” Geoff says, running his fingers through his hair. “So if you want to take a day off, sure go ahead. I won’t hold you back.”

“Wow, you’re generous,” Ryan compliments. Geoff only stares at him without a witty remark, and that’s pretty weird, so Ryan nudges him. “Wanna go for some cow sightseeing with me?”

“God fucking no,” Geoff replies, horrified. “I’m not going to hear you naming every goddamn animal in the city Edgar, Ryan.”

“Your loss, man,” Ryan says and Geoff shakes his head in disbelief as he watches Ryan walks outside the fence gate barefoot.

When Ryan comes back four hours later, Geoff whips his head to look at his bloody jacket with a disappointed face.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?” Geoff asks. Ryan gives his confirmation through his nod and Geoff lets out a string of curses, rubbing his face furiously. “You said you want to go sightseeing, for fuck’s sake,” Geoff says. “What the fuck, Ryan?”

“I—“

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear your reason,” Geoff hisses. “I let you killed somebody before because you clearly need to cool down your head, but what I see now you’re clearly endanger us all and _that_ is the last thing we need right now.” Geoff scoffs indignantly. “You’re not the only one who’s stressed out because of Ray’s death, you piece of shit. So, you need to stop getting a fucking bounty on your head or you find somewhere else to stay, you hear me?”

Ryan simply shrugs without a care in the world and that gets him a direct punch to the head.

* * *

 

He meets Michael inside a 24-hour convenience store and he thinks that maybe this is fate. The convenience store is really far from their main safe house, located on a street near the pier. Plus, it’s six thirty AM in the morning and somehow their eyes meet when Ryan’s searching for deodorant and Michael’s looking for chicken-flavored snacks.

“Holy shit,” Michael says, looking at Ryan from head to toe. “If you dress up like this, I swear to god you look like a typical next door guy.”

Ryan looks down at his white plain t-shirt and green knee-length shorts, then chuckles. “Not intimidating, I presume?”

“Inviting older women’s stares, perhaps,” Michael says. “Wow, yeah, seriously this is pretty bizarre.”

Ryan shrugs casually. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Sure. By the time I’ll get used to it, you’re back with your creepy mask,” says Michael. He goes to the refrigerator and takes two cans of beer and a bottle of water. He drops everything he had taken to Ryan’s arms, now full of colorful packages.  “Now you pay up.”

“Why don’t you, I don’t know,” Ryan skids closer towards Michael, quietly whispers, “steal it?”

“Heist break, remember?” Michael makes a gesture to his face. “Plus I got no mask to hide my pretty face.”

“There are masks in my trunk if you want to use it.”

“Of course you have spare masks.” Michael rolls his eyes. “But Geoff said heist break, so be a good citizen and pay up.”

“Didn’t even think you would be the one who’s so obedient,” Ryan comments as he walks to the cashier. Michael just gives him a laid-back grin, rocking on his tiptoes. The older man’s attention is grabbed by the ice cream display. “Hey, Michael, want some ice cream?”

“For breakfast?”

“Yup. Do you want it or not?”

“Hell yeah!” Michael exclaims, completely excited. The younger man quickly marches on to the ice cream display. “Okay, so I’m gonna pick mint chocolate chips. What about you, Ryan?”

“Rocky road,” Ryan answers. He opens his wallet, counts his money and asks to the cashier “So, how much does it cost?”

“Twenty five bucks,” says the cashier. Ryan pays him and grabs their things. Michael rushes up to his side, giving Ryan his ice cream.

“Thanks, dude,” says Michael.

“No problem,” Ryan replies.

“Let’s go to the pier,” Michael says as an offer. They’re near the pier after all. Walk five minutes to the pier and you’ve arrived. Maybe they can watch the sun slowly rises to the top of the earth. Michael waits for Ryan to speak or to give signs, but the older man just stares into his ice cream like there’s something peculiar living in there. It takes three drops of ice cream dripping down to the back of Ryan’s hand to bring him back into reality, where the birds’ enthusiastic chirps and the sound of wheels screeching mixed up together to make morning beats.

“Okay,” Ryan finally answers, taking a step forward. “I kind of want to see where you guys blew him up.”

Michael catches up to him, his eyebrows raised. “How do you know we blew him up?”

“A hunch,” Ryan says easily. “And none of us ever used bows and arrows so I figured you used your grenades.”

“Sherlock,” Michael murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Ryan just spreads out his arm, asking Michael to take the lead so he can follow the steps.

There’s no one in the pier besides two of them. The sound of waves after waves crashing into the pillars surrounds them and the sun is peeking out from the horizon. They passes so many booths and chairs and his ice cream cup is already empty by the time Michael stops. He points his finger towards a spot in the sea and Ryan’s eyes squints.

“There,” Michael says. “As you can see, there’s only salt water, but he was there.”

“I asked Geoff to take a picture,” Ryan replies.

“Jack has it,” tells Michael, glancing at him. Ryan only nods in acknowledgment before dumps his cup into the sea, arms twitching.

“I’ll give you roses next year,” Ryan says to the open sea, wistful, and Michael only gives him an incredulous look when he steps away.

* * *

 

Jack gives him a plate of bacon and potato frittata and Ryan takes it with no appreciation. “I want pancakes,” he demands. Jack smacks his head hard and it stings. Ryan winces in pain as he glares at Jack. She glares back fiercely.

“Just eat the goddamn frittata or I swear to god I’m gonna make you a fucking bald man and send you to a retirement home,” Jack threatens, raises her big-ass kitchen knife, and Ryan finally shuts his mouth.

He hesitates to pick up his fork and knife and eat Jack’s frittata. The frittata is looking gloriously pimp and all, but damn, Ryan really want to eat pancakes right now. But Jack’s stare is deadly right now, like it’s a real manifestation of _if looks could kill_ idiom. Ryan finally bites a small portion of it, bit by bit, and Jack’s face finally smoothens.

“Is it good?” she asks, full of hope. Ryan nods. Jack stares out of the window, looking at the grey clouds mourning over Los Santos. There’s a man in purple jacket walking outside their gate, fiddling with his smartphone, and Jack turns her head to look at Ryan, still busy nibbling the bacons. “You really need to stop raising the price of your head.”

“How much does my head cost?” Ryan asks.

Jack rubs her temple. “Fucking fifty thousand bucks.”

“Huh, my head is more worthy than what we got in the last three heists.” Ryan swings his legs far enough to brush Jack’s bare feet.  “You sure you don’t want to shoot my head off for the cash? I’m expensive.”

“No, I don’t, Ryan,” Jack grits out. “And you need a break.”

“I am on a break,” Ryan tells her, pointing at his plate. “I’m currently eating the fucking frittata peacefully right now. Not going to some convenience store with a freaking shotgun, stealing money and candy bars.”

“I mean _murder_ break,” Jack affirms and her forehead crinkles. “You recklessly shot, what, four people yesterday?”

“Six,” Ryan corrects her and Jack’s face goes sour.

“Okay, six people,” Jack says dryly. “You literally give yourself a fucking death sentence.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’ve been innocent this whole time.”

“I kill people when it’s necessary to do so, Ry.”

“You’re the boring but practical girl, I get it. And don’t you fucking call me Ry.” When he sees Jack’s expression, mouth curling downwards and full of ugly lines on her beautiful skin, he sets down his fork and knife and touches her wrist gently. “I’m sorry, Jack. I know you mean no harm but I—“

“I get it, Ryan. Really.” Jack sucks in a breath, her smile’s forced, and Ryan’s gut just swoops down in regret. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Ray, I really do but now I’m really worried about you.”

“You’re always worried about everything.”

“Yeah, I am.  But right now, it’s mostly you.” Jack intertwines their fingers, holding them tightly. “You’re barely getting enough sleep and you just keep killing people in the dead of the night and God fucking knows what you’ve been doing these days.” She lets go of his hand, then curls her nimble fingers into Ryan’s cheek. “You need to know that we are here. Probably not the best people to talk and confess some shit with, but, yeah, we’re here for you.”

“I can talk shit to you?”

Jack shrugs. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

Ryan starts, “Then your frittata is—“

Jack throws her hands up in the air, frustrated. “Oh my God, I am _so_ going to shave off your hair.”

“I’m not finished, Jack. It’s fucking delicious.” Jack looks at him in the eye before chuckling softly. Ryan assumes that as a good sign and it always warms his heart whenever Jack laughs. “So, not going to shave my hair now, huh?”

“If you’re on your murder break,” Jack says,

“Okay,” Ryan submits with a tired smile. “Please remind me. I tend to forget and get lost.”

“Of course.” Jack smiles back, not completely relieved, but it’s probably a start of something good. She ruffles his hair fondly. “Anything for you.”

* * *

 

It’s a lovely Tuesday morning and Ryan awakens to Geoff’s snores from next room. He squints his eyes to the light shining through the chiffon curtain and finds out that the sun had risen roughly ten minutes ago. Ryan stands up, stretches his body as far as he can. He does twenty five push-ups before he decides to be a nice guy and buy food for five—he repeats in his mind: f-i-v-e, not s-i-x—person.  

One foot out of his bedroom and he notices Gavin’s head poking out of the sofa. The TV is on and Ryan can see a silver car, too fast for the Ryan’s liking, before the car succumbs into the gravity and crashed. Gavin makes these kind of stupid noises—engine starting, brakes, the sound of wheels when the car’s drifting sharply, etc—and when Gavin’s car spawns just before the large gap, Ryan croaks in high-pitched voice. Gavin’s so startled he drops the consoles right on top of his left foot.

“Bloody hell!” Gavin hisses, turning his head towards Ryan’s direction. “Jesus, Ryan, you’re a prick.”

“Yeah, I am,” Ryan agrees. He sits down next to Gavin. “Isn’t it too early to play games?”

“More like too late,” Gavin replies, scrubbing his eyes. “I think I’ve been sitting on this couch since five hours ago? I don’t know. I feel tired, though. My limbs are wobbly.” Gavin moves his arms, making a wave gesture. “Like gummy bears. Jell-o. Do you have Jell-o right now?”

“No,” Ryan replies honestly, because the last time he checked the fridge, there was nothing inside of it except for empty beer cans.

“Lameeeee,” Gavin sings. He gazes at Ryan’s face and cocks his head. “You look less scary without the mask and the face paint.”

“That’s quite the point, isn’t it? Being scary and all.” Ryan chuckles. “Ray liked seeing you shitting your pants so yeah.” He raises his shoulder casually. “I sometimes indulged his wishes.”

“No wonder,” Gavin says sarcastically. “Fucking pricks.” He fiddles with his console before sets it down on the couch, curling into a ball so he can rest his chin on his knees. “So, I’ve been wondering, who painted your face?”

“Me, of course.” Ryan snorts.

“What about Ray?”

“What about him?”

Gavin cocks his head to the side. “Did he paint your face?”

“Just when he wanted to,” Ryan answers as he shuts his eyes. He remembers Ray’s left thumb held his cheek firmly while his right hand gripped the brush delicately, painting his face with easy flicks, occasionally with soft snickers. He was a wonder, really.  “He was a sloppy painter.”

“Huh. Never thought he was a sloppy guy.”

“Perfect in sniping and gaming, yes, but he’s definitely an idiot when it comes to painting. He once tried to draw my face, 2D version, on my cheeks, but it was horrible. It’s like, I don’t know, a bunch of tits wrangled together in a knot.”

“I cannot imagine.” Gavin laughs, loud and clear, and Ryan laughs along with him. “I’d really like to see that and take a picture of it.” Gavin closes his mouth for a second, then confesses to Ryan, “I missed Ray. He was a good comrade. A good friend.”

Ryan doesn’t reply him, contemplates in silence. Gavin understands, though, for once not saying dumb or unnecessary things. He sleepily gives Ryan his console and drops his head against Ryan’s crook of neck. “Lemme borrow your shoulder and in return, you can go watch telly or play games, yeah?”

“Night night,” Ryan says instead. Gavin clearly takes that as a yes because he nuzzles his nose into his t-shirt and Ryan lets him sleep his way into the dreamland. He’s not going to be a domestic nice guy this morning, cooking breakfast for best friends, and having a blast when they smothered him with praises. Right now, he adjusts his body to make himself a better human pillow for Gavin’s need and he’s pretty fine with it. Completely fine.

* * *

 

A week after Ray’s final meeting with the grim reaper, they finally decides to clean all of Ray’s stuff from his bedroom. 

Ryan sweeps down the floor until the dirt is gone and mops the floor until all of the tiles are squeaky clean. The furniture stays at their place, all cleaned up, and look good as new.

Jack is the one who packs Ray’s things in boxes. They’re organized, neat as hell, and each of them labeled as _clothes, games, broken glasses and dead roses._

Meanwhile, Geoff hangs the pink rifle on the wall and puts down a new table in the corner of the living room as a shrine.

“Make him your god or something,” Geoff says. “Worship him or anything, really. Fucking suit yourself.”

And everybody just rolls their eyes, but they drop things on the sumptuous mahogany table below Ray’s rifle anyway, such as a slice of strawberry cheesecake (Gavin)—God knows when the cake will be rotten and someone is going to throw up a lot just by the disgusting smell—a heart-shaped sunglasses and a rainbow flip-flops (Geoff), a broken Xbox console found when they broke into a teacher’s house (Michael), tiny rose corsages (Jack), and a copy of Halo 3 (Ryan).

Michael hammers down a nail into the wooden door and Gavin can’t stand still. The Brit keeps biting his nail, nervous as hell with Michael in prospect of getting his fingers broken because a hammer, even though Michael does it flawlessly. And Gavin only needs one nail to hang a handmade signboard anyway so it’s not hard for Michael at all. Easy peasy.

There are letters written neatly, spread across the sign, and Ryan smiles sadly when sees it.

 _FOR SALE_ , it reads, and in Ryan’s mind, that is Ray’s gravestone. He takes a glance to his right side and there’s just an empty void hanging open. Eyes closed, he hears Ray saying _you’re such a sappy nerd_ with a smug smirk and lashes fluttering, Ryan can’t help but scoffs at the imagination.

“You okay, mate?” Gavin asks when he looks at Ryan’s crooked lips, worried.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding a little choked. Ryan opens his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “In a minute.”


End file.
